It's the End of the World as We Know It

(And I [Want to] Feel Fine)

(Picture found here)

Apocalyptic (I use “apocalypse” here with its modern understanding of end-of-the-world ideology as opposed to the ancient understanding of it as something revealed) angst has gripped human imagination and fascination for thousands of years. The concept of an “end of the world” may have originated with ancient Persia’s predominant religion: Zoroastrianism. Named after Zoroaster (thought to have existed around 1000 BCE), Zoroastrianism centers around its principal deity, Ahura Mazda, a gracious and benevolent god from whom all good things originated. Ahura Mazda, however, had a counterpart in the deity Angra Mainyu, who was associated with all things dark and evil. These two deities engaged in perpetual cosmic conflict, eventually culminating in good vanquishing evil, the final judgement of the wicked, and a reunification of the good and righteous with the benevolent deity. This, of course, finds a parallel within the Christian imagination, in which Jesus of Nazareth, God incarnate, finds himself in cosmic conflict with Satan, culminating in Satan’s being thrown into the lake of fire—along with Death and Hell—the final judgement, and the making of a “new heaven and new earth” in which the righteous may dwell with the divine Godhead for eternity. These two religious imaginations represent a linear way of thinking in which all things lead to the eschaton, or the divine plan for the end of the world.

Brief Aside: Much of Christian imagination’s view of the eschaton is influenced by the final book of the Christian scriptures: Revelation (I feel it is important to point out that there is no “s” at the end of the word). Written by John for his own time and place, he was convinced, like all New Testament authors, that the eschaton was imminent, meaning John had no intention of later readers identifying the antichrist with Muhammad, or Joseph Smith, or Hitler, or Obama, or Trump, or the Popes, or perceiving the mark of the beast as microchips, or barcodes, or tattoos, or AI, or credit cards. I think John would be appalled to see how we have distorted his text. Let us read and interpret responsibly, people!

We might also think of the great flood stories found in literature across the ancient landscape, most notably in the Babylonian “Epic of Gilgamesh” and the flood narrative in Genesis 6-9. Though not explicit end-of-the-world stories, these great flood narratives represent worlds fraught with violent purging and gracious renewal.

This end-of-the-world genre abounds still today. Movies (World War Z, 28 Days/Weeks/Years Later, Wall-E, 2012, Don’t Look Up, Knock at the Cabin, Seeking a Friend for the End of the World, This is the End), television shows (The Walking Dead, The Last of Us, Fallout, The Last Man on Earth, Adventure Time) books (Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend, Emily St. John Mandel’s Station Eleven, Stephen King’s The Stand, Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower) and songs (R.E.M’s “It’s The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine),” Phoebe Bridgers’s “I Know The End,” Bo Burnham’s “That Funny Feeling” and “All Eyes On Me,” Johnny Cash’s “The Man Comes Around”) all represent various ways we think about the end of the world (I have listed only some of my favorites; the examples are limitless). This constant flow of annihilation literature may feel overwhelming at times, no doubt heightened by social media, which often gives the impression that things are worse off than they are, but I think it is an invaluable lens through which we can wrestle with death, grief, fear, and an unstable, unknowable universe. We humans have this morbid curiosity with how the world will end, whether that be billions of years from now, when our sun will run out of hydrogen and turn into a red giant, engulfing the surrounding planets, or an alien invasion, or zombies, or a virus, or a meteor. In order to comprehend our finitude, we like to unite our beginning with a known end and fill the middle with meaning.

However, I recently read a book that reminded me of a more sinister, immediate way the end of the world may come about: nuclear warfare. In her book, Nuclear War: A Scenario, Annie Jacobsen details minute by minute what would happen if the United States were to engage in nuclear warfare with North Korea and Russia, an apocalypse-inducing conflict that would leave billions dead within mere hours and billions more dead in the ensuing nuclear fallout. Of such warfare, she writes, “Everyone loses. Everyone” (p. 275). What I find terrifying about this end-of-the-world scenario is the existential threat it poses to our immediate present. Rather than millions of years in the future, nuclear warfare could happen in months, or weeks, or days, or mere hours. It could happen before you finish reading this Substack. And it would be entirely our fault (“our” meaning humanity as a collective). Unlike those aforementioned doomsday scenarios, we cannot claim ourselves to be hapless victims of circumstance or subject to the whims of a capricious universe. Our ingenuity and penchant for domination, power, oppression, and subjugation created weapons of auto-destruction. Even more terrifying, nuclear warfare is entirely preventable. Were it to happen, it would be because those in positions of power wanted it to happen.

This book feels especially germane given the renewed threat of nuclear war arising from Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and Israel and America’s bombing of Iran. Social media is filled with users convinced that World War III, which would undoubtedly involve the usage of nuclear weapons, is on the horizon. Dispensationalist Christians are convinced that these current world events are harbingers of the eschaton and (unfortunately) welcome and even pray for the destruction. Presidents, Prime Ministers, and Supreme Leaders are levying threats against one another; threats that, if taken seriously, can and will result in the deaths of an unimaginable number of people, of fellow human beings. All this, coupled with the constant flow—no ebb—of unsettling news from different outlets, makes it easy to succumb to fear and worry, which can itself be dangerous if we allow them to paralyze or derange.

However, I do not want to be paralyzed. I do not want to be deranged. I want to feel hope during these dire circumstances. I want my fear to lead to action. It is the end of the world, and I want so desperately to feel fine (and not in a “Thank goodness it’s the end of the world! Christ’s return is imminent!” kind of way. Such a way of thinking often falsely absolves Christians of their eschewing of responsibility to care about important matters here in the present). As someone who holds deeply to the biblical witness, I believe those ancient words provide an extremely relevant history of what we should worry about and what we should do about it. And, should we take them to heart, they inspire us to action in our present, working for and towards the common good of both our world and our shared humanity. The remainder of this Substack is thus occupied by two examples I have been reflecting upon lately.

Isaiah 2:4

“He shall judge between the nations
and shall arbitrate for many peoples;
they shall beat their swords into plowshares
and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation;
neither shall they learn war any more.” (NRSVue)

This beautiful verse is part of a larger poetic unit (2:1-4) in which the prophet is given a vision of nations traveling to Jerusalem, where Yahweh, the source of all life and everlasting peace, is most fully present, and verse four marks the vision’s apogee. Those who go up to the mountain of the Lord will assuredly experience a profoundly positive transformation. Nations will no longer need to defend themselves against other nations, for their swords will be beaten into plowshares and their spears will be beaten into pruning hooks. That is, political, economic, and social oppression and domination between nations and kingdoms will definitively cease. There will be no more hateful rhetoric or divisive ideologies. Threats will no longer be levied against one another. Israel’s God will teach them peace, and they will be staunch adherents to it. God will enact a type of pax Romana (only for the whole earth) by which all will be cared for. Norman Gottwald likens this image to an ancient United Nations where the nations can be drawn together through mutual offers of well-being and where war will no longer be necessary (All the Kingdoms of the Earth, 199-203).

We may be reminded of Martin Luther King Jr. and his famous “I Have a Dream” speech or his final “I Have Been to the Mountaintop” speech. Here, King lays out his vision of racial equality, where non-white people are afforded the same opportunities and given the same social status as white people. Presciently, King, in his rhythmic cadence, boldly proclaimed how God had taken him to the mountain tops to give him a glimpse of the promised land, and, in his words, “[though] I may not make it with you,” they “as a people will get to the promised land” (King was assasinated the following day). Now, given the way the world was organized at the time, King knew his dreams wouldn’t immediately materialize, that it would be a daily struggle to enact social change. Towards the end of his life, King was even voted as the most hated man in America. Unfortunately, racism still rears its ugly head in many different ways today, and non-white people continually have to fight for equal rights.

Likewise, we recognize Isaiah’s vision/dream will not immediately materialize, but that does not mean we can take a passive stance. Rather, we should understand it to be a regulative ideal, or an outcome to consistently strive for, while recognizing it may never truly be achieved in our lifetime. It bears repeating, even though the vision of peace outlined here in Isaiah may not be fully achieved in our lifetime, we still have the responsibility to work towards it daily. Thus, we ask ourselves, How can we work towards complete peace in our nuclear age? My immediate response is that we, as Christians, have the responsibility to enact and support policies seeking constraints upon the hoarding of nuclear weapons. Since the mid-twentieth century, the United States has spent trillions preparing for nuclear war, amassing thousands upon thousands of nuclear weapons. Currently, there are 1,770 deployed nuclear weapons—the majority of which are on ready-to-launch—with thousands more in reserve in the United States’s stockpile, with a total of more than 5,000 nuclear warheads (Jacobsen, 27). The logic behind such hoarding is referred to as deterrence, or the idea that gathering and maintaining a massive arsenal of nuclear weapons is necessary for the discouragement of nuclear attacks (Jacobsen, 22). Each nuclear nation gathers mass amounts of nuclear weapons and keeps them pointed at their enemies, ready to launch at the press of a button, with the mutual understanding that they will never be used unless the nation is forced to use them. But we must ask, Does stockpiling nuclear weapons really keep us safe from nuclear warfare, especially when America abides by a Launch on Warning policy?

Launch on Warning simply means that the United States will launch nuclear weapons when its systems warn of a nuclear attack; America will not wait to be hit to launch its nuclear weapons back at the aggressors. The problem is, these warning machines err. In 1950, our early-warning radars once mistook a flock of swans as Russian MiG fighter jets en route to the states. In 1960, radars in Greenland mistook the rising moon as 1,000 attacking ICBMs, or Intercontinental ballistic missiles. In 1979, a simulation tape was accidentally inserted into a computer device, leading analysts to believe the states were under attack by Russian ICBMs and nuclear ballistic submarines (Jacobsen, 78). The stakes are simply too great to risk errors such as these. George W. Bush during his election campaign vowed to address the Launch on Warning policy were he to be elected, saying “High-alert, high-trigger [is] another unnecessary vestige of Cold War confrontation.” No change was made. Barack Obama declared that “such policies increase the risk of catastrophic accidents or miscalculation.” No change was made. Joe Biden was repeatedly urged by high-ranking physicists to end the policy. No change was made. Launch on Warning remains in effect to this day

Trillons of dollars spent on a nuclear program that may kickstart the end of the world when a flock of geese decide to go for a mid-afternoon fly. Trillions of dollars spent on a nuclear program when that money could have been spent funding our social institutions, providing people with equal opportunities for healthcare, childcare, education, and the protection of the housing market. A nation so consumed with funding weapons of mass destruction rather than its social programs is a nation seduced by the alluring sin of might, power, intimidation, and militarism. As Christians, we are commissioned to fight for peace, justice, and righteousness, to end political, economic, and social oppression. It is not too late to beat our swords into plowshares and our spears into pruning hooks, but we must meet this need with the utmost of urgency.

Leviticus 19:18

“You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against any of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord.” (NRSVue)

This short verse, according to Jesus, is the second greatest commandment in the Law (the first being to love God, but the two are inextricably linked). Though brief, its implications are anything but. The verb “love” here signals not simply an emotional response, but a physical one as well. To “love” your neighbor is to provide them with food and shelter (Deut. 10:18-19), to actively obey God and God’s commandments. Wrapped up in this verb is the implication to physically care for those around you, ensuring their needs are met without any conditions attached, to see to it that those who are hungry are fed; those who are thirsty are brought water; those who are naked are clothed; those who are sick are healed; those who are homeless are housed. To love our neighbor is ensure their complete and total well-being. This cannot and will not be done if we continue to turn a blind eye to our world’s obsession with militarism.

Just as our neighbors are those 1 mile from us, 100 miles from us, 1,000 miles from us, our neighbors are also those living 100 years from now, 1,000 years from now. Loving our neighbor means broadneing our temporal horizons beyond our own generation to those generations to come, for they matter just as much as we here and now matter. This recognition of the value of those after us is referred to as “longtermism.” William MacAskill, a longtermist scholar, in his book, What We Owe the Future, calculates that if the world were to continue for a million more years at its current population size, eighty trillion more people would be born. If we allow our world to succumb to nuclear warfare, that is eighty trillion people whose lives, legacies, and potentials are instantly cancelled. Further, our memory of history, and therefore of those who have come before us, will be eradicated, and “everything collectively learned by all of us, and all that has been passed down to us by our ancestors, would become myth” (Jacobsen, 296). As long as nuclear warfare remains a possibility, the survival of us as a species, the survival of our neighbor, dances on the razor’s edge.

Anthropologists Brian Hare and Vanessa Woods in their book, Survival of the Friendliest: Understanding Our Origins and Rediscovering Our Common Humanity, write that increasing evidence has been found that “friendliness, rather than dulling intelligence, gives animals a cognitive advantage—particularly when it comes to cooperating and communicating” (Hare and Woods, 36). Further, following a discussion regarding the human self-domestication hypothesis, which posits that natural selection favors species who exhibit friendlier behavior towards one another, write that “we thrived not because we got smarter, but because we got friendlier” (Hare and Woods, 67). In other words, the survival of humankind depends on our capacity to love one another. Thus, Leviticus 19:18 offers not simply a pithy platitude to have hanging on your wall but the key to survival itself. If we are to keep surviving and thriving as a species, we need to keep loving one another, the kind of love that dares to look violent and oppressive kingdoms in their eyes and demands radical, world-changing peace; the kind of love where nations are drawn together in mutual understanding and respect; the kind of love that renders warfare an unnecessary evil of the past.

We stand at the crossroads in which we may continue down the violent path we are on or reconsider and walk the path of mercy and peace. The prophet Jeremiah instructs his community to

“Stand at the crossroads and look,
and ask for the ancient paths,
where the good way lies; and walk in it,
and find rest for your souls.”

The ancient paths are the paths I have been discussing here: the paths of peace, of beating swords to plowshares and spears to pruning hooks, of loving our past, present, and future neighbors. The ancient paths Jeremiah speaks of are the paths of radical neighborliness, and I pray we walk those paths before it is too late.

Recommended Reading:

Nuclear War: A Scenario by Annie Jacobsen

Survival of the Friendliest: Understanding Our Origins and Rediscovering Our Common Humanity by Brian Hare and Vanessa Woods